Transparent As Glaze On Doughnuts
by Lunar Iris
Summary: Canada has a penchant for doughnuts and he is not afraid to let the world know it. Slight hints of Canada/America, if you squint and some fatherly England. Rated T, only to be safe. De-anon from the Kink Meme.


****So, this is my the first Hetalia fanfiction that I'm submitting to this site, but not the first I've written. It is a de-anon from the kink-meme, and I do not have the link to it any longer, sadly.

Also, I do not own Hetalia, in any way. I just like playing with the characters.

**Transparent as Glaze on Doughnuts**

America has a penchant for hamburgers. It is no secret. He keeps a supply to munch during meetings, and he gets lots of flack for this, primarily from Germany (and England, but only when he is extraordinarily messy). This comes as a source of both amusement and relief for Canada.

Germany frowns upon eating during meetings, but everyone knows that is because the nation is OCD about crumbs on the table and official documents. Due to his capability to be almost entirely forgettable by his colleagues, Canada does not usually worry about this unwritten rule.

It is the biggest secret the world will ever discover that Canada has a penchant for doughnuts. They should all have seen this coming. He doesn't hide the fact. He regularly brings them into the conferences. It all began because of his affinity to sleep like a bear hibernating for winter, which caused him to be late when he didn't room with someone who would wake him, and then stopped for breakfast first.

Once when they met in his country, Canada just decided to take his breakfast with him. He stopped by Tim Horton's and picked up doughnuts with his quick cup of coffee. Problem solved.

It is another meeting; this time in America, and Canada sneaks in late with his breakfast and sits at the table next to his brother's seat in a chair graciously left vacant. England sputters on about the ridiculousness of America's idea to saving the world from the sun's radiation using large genetically modified sponges as Canada nibbles absently on Timbits. He chuckles at his brother when America sits down next to him, his presentation finished.

America takes note of the second 40-pack box of little glazed pieces of heaven and grins in appreciation. He plops one in his mouth and then signs his obligatory report that he completed his presentation and slides the paper forward to Germany.

He just popped a second in his mouth when Germany roars out at him. "America!" He waves the paper in the air. "What is this?" He points to a half centimetre spot on the bottom left corner that Canada can't really see from two seats away.

"What is it?" America swallows the morsel in his mouth and rises to get a better look, squinting his eyes.

"This spot!" Germany points at it again, waving it in America's face, causing him to tilt his head backward to keep the paper from brushing against his nose.

"Oh, that's just a flake of glaze. No big deal." He takes a finger and brushes the speck off the paper and into his hand other, which he wipes on a napkin, because he knows that Germany would have a conniption fit if he let it fall on the table.

"Very well," he grumbles and sets the paper down onto an opened manila file folder. "Okay everyone, I believe you have had long enough to write your own opinions on America's idea. Please pass up your papers."

Canada signs his paper and carries it toward the head of the table along with the others passed in his direction. Germany, dead set on coming up with a way to keep the nations from fighting through their opinions during the middle of presentations, must have introduced this at the beginning of the meeting that morning. He couldn't figure out the point of its usage until halfway through America's presentation as he fiddled with it between bites.

He settles back into his seat and awaits the results of impromptu poll.

"America!" Germany grouses again.

"What did I do this time?" His younger brother sighs and rolls his eyes at Germany.

"Why are there flakes on half of these papers?"

"Huh?" America's eyes are humorously wide.

"Did not you not just bring these papers up to me?"

"What?! No! That wasn't—"

"Don't lie, America," England scolds from across the table. "I saw you get up and deliver those papers to Germany."

"But I didn't!"

Canada sits back and plops another couple Timbits into his mouth. And this is a good occasion to enjoy his invisibility.

"You know you aren't even supposed to bring food into the meeting, lad."

"I didn't even bring the doughnuts!"

"They're Timbits!" Canada grumbles to his brother out of an entertained need to specify his doughnut of choice.

"Two boxes of them are sitting right in front of you." France spoke up, a playful smirk toying with the corner of his mouth.

"Only one of these boxes is mine! And I didn't even bring—"

"Of course they're yours!" England's eyebrows furrow, comically as they always do when he becomes upset. "I saw your pudgy self eating them, and when you took the papers from your side of the table up to Germany!"

America pouts.

Pudgy!? Canada resists a grumble on his own behalf; maybe England merely mistook him for America yet again and his remembering his brother's minute spare tire that was barely there at all. He isn't pudgy...

"But I didn't take—"

Let America take the brunt of this mess. He had played the scapegoat enough times for his brother through their long history when he got in trouble with England when they were young.

Canada giggles and munches, reaches in for another couple Timbits.

"Who else in this room has blonde hair, blue eyes, wears glasses and is a bit fleshy." Germany growls at America.

Fleshy? Canada resists the urge to whimper.

No, they are thinking of America! He pokes at his stomach. Of course, they aren't talking about...

"Canada!" America bellows out to the room at large, pointing in his direction. And all the nations follow his brother's finger straight to his puffed out cheeks.

"Mmphnn!"

"Canada took the papers up. Canada brought the doughnuts!"

The room stills, watching and waiting, as Canada finishes chewing his mouthful. It takes a few more awkward seconds. His cheeks are burning at the attention.

"He brings doughnuts to every meeting!" America whines, making sure to emphasize the key words in his declaration, and flops back down into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

"America! You just see the next time I bring you doughnuts!" He grumbles at his brother.

"Wait!" Japan puts a hand up. "Timbits? Aren't those from Tim Hortons? We're in America!"

The cheeks of both brothers colour and they scoot down in their chairs.

"What? I let Canada open some here and there. They're really good." America's cheeks blush deeper and he turns off his attention to the rest of the room, acting like a child as usual. "He gets grouchy without his doughnuts!

The room descends into silence again, some of the nations glance tentatively at the brothers and others fidget with their notes.

America and Canada stare at the table in front of them. They both reach into the same box at the same time. America grasps his fingers around a Timbit. Canada's fingers pat at the bottom and find...emptiness. Emptiness at the bottom of the pack of Timbits.

"Oh, no! You just did not!" He glares at America and slowly rises from his seat. "America!"

"Uh oh..." America closes his teeth around the bite in his mouth and shoots out of his seat, and around the table.

Canada takes off after him. "America! Get back here, you hoser!"

They dash around the table.

"Cool down, bro!"

"Boys," England calls out. "Sit back down, immediately!"

"America! You took my last one!" They come to a standoff on opposite sides of the table.

"I didn't mean to! Come on!"

"It was my last one!"

America cowers behind England's chair as Canada jumps up on the conference table brandishing a hockey stick.

"All this fuss because of what!? A doughnut?" England huffs, glaring up at him.

"He really, really likes his doughnuts, England." America whimpers from behind him, as though Canada would charge him like a bear.

"Canada, you sit down this instant!" England puts a protective arm out and pushes up from his seat. "Go sit down America." He mutters more softly to his brother.

"But England!" Canada whines. "He took my last one, eh."

"I don't care." He steps forward and pokes at Canada's stomach. "I actually think you are getting pudgy. Lay off the doughnuts, lad."

He makes a groan of embarrassment but hops down off the table, and settles back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Soon, he hears the shuffle of his brother's chair as it is righted into its place at the table.

"Now, may we go back to the meeting?" Germany huffs and the nations all nod in agreement.

Canada's eyes the other box of Timbits scooting mid-way between him and his brother and smiles. He knows that the gesture is golden. His brother has leaned forward to catch his eye as well, wearing an apologetic smile. Canada is sure this is the most of an apology he will get.

America takes out a Timbit and slowly positions it just in front of Canada's lips. He licks them on impulse; he can practically smell the sugar. His brother nudges to his lips; he grins and opens his mouth to accept it—this gesture of apology. He pretends that he did not moan as he chews it. But, if the chuckle to his right is any indication, his brother heard it.

Maybe he can get another couple packs after the meeting and coax a further apology from him. Or make a peace offering for nearly caning America with his hockey stick. Or make America get them this time...

Canada sits back and contemplates what he could possibly do with doughnuts of any variety. He's not too fussy, after all.

Canada has a penchant for doughnuts and he is not afraid to let the world know it.


End file.
